


foolish, fragile

by InkCaviness



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Captain Yahaba Shigeru, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Third Year Kyoutani Kentarou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 11:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15169658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkCaviness/pseuds/InkCaviness
Summary: they don't make it to nationals in their third year.he spent so long telling himself he doesn't care.it shouldn't matter.it shouldn't





	foolish, fragile

**Author's Note:**

> i'm finally back on my bullshit

They don’t make it to Nationals in their third year.

It’s not a surprise, not really. They make it far and their team isn’t weak but in the end, it’s not enough. After that last whistle blows, the disappointment is palpable in the air. The cheers from the other side of the net sting more than any of them expected. Kentarou stubbornly keeps his head up and his shoulders squared. Slowly cooling sweat is making his shirt cling to his back uncomfortably and his jaws his starting to ache from how tightly his teeth are clenched.

But it doesn’t matter, does it? He didn’t really care about this team anyways. That’s what he’s trying to tell himself as he joins his teammate to bow one last time. He makes the mistake of glancing at Yahaba who has the hem of his jersey clutched tightly in both trembling hands as he stares straight ahead. Kentarou pretends he can’t see the tears running down Yahaba’s cheeks and ignores his own eyes stinging. He swallows around the lump in his throat and squeezes his eyes shut. No matter how much he hates losing, this shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

 

He wants to feel angry, misses the burn of rage that would normally run through his veins after his loss. Instead, all he feels is pressure settling around his ribs and threatening to suffocate him. A firm hand around his arm rips Kentarou out of his thoughts and when he lifts his head to see Yahaba looking down at him and for a second he can breathe again. It doesn’t really hit him until Yahaba forces his face into something grotesquely resembling a smile. They’re never going to play together again. He wasted most of the past three years being angry and convincing himself that he doesn’t care at all and now. They’re never going to play together like this again.

 

-

 

Walking back to the changing rooms feels more like defeat than bowing on the court did. In a way Kentarou almost resents the underclassmen for the determination in their eyes. They’ll have another shot. For them it’s a defeat but not the end. It’s not the end for Yahaba either, he thinks bitterly. He’s the only one of the third years who already got scouted for a college team and.

Kentarou isn’t bitter about that. Not really. He knew he wouldn’t become a professional player. It’s a childhood wish he sacrificed in exchange for feigning nonchalance about his team. No college scouts a player who refuses to cooperate, no matter how strong he’s gotten. No matter how much more in sync they’d all become over the past year, no matter how much Yahaba’s stubbornness had pulled him further and further into the team.

He changes mechanically without looking up at his teammates. Everything feels hazy. Someone is talking quietly but everything sounds distant. His own thoughts have morphed into a mass of white noise, simply there to fill the emptiness in his head. He pulls a clean shirt down over his head and hesitates for a second to close his eyes and breathe in deeply.

 

Kentarou’s the last to step out of the changing room. The door slams shut behind his back and echoes loudly in the almost empty hallway. Distantly he’s aware that he should follow his team. But the pressure in his head is getting overwhelming and without a second thought he turns on his heel and steps back into the changing room. His body is operating on autopilot and he doesn’t quite register where he’s going until he’s already turned the shower on all the way.

 

Still fully dressed he sags against the wall and slides down until he’s sitting directly under the spray of water. It doesn’t take long for his clothes to be soaked through and heavy on his shoulder but it’s an odd sort of relief. The heavier the weight on his body gets, the lighter his mind feels.

 

“Kyoutani?”

 

He doesn’t really register the voice until it’s too late. Slowly he lifts his head and blinks the water out of his eyes to stare at the figure standing in the door. A silhouette only illuminated from the back by the stark neon lights in the changing room. Yahaba almost looks like the hero in some dumb TV show like this. The thought almost manages to make Kentarou laugh. Instead he let’s his head fall back against the tiles and waits.

 

“Kyoutani, what are you even-“ Yahaba cuts himself off with a strangled sigh.

For a moment he just hovers in the door before his shoulders slump and he steps into the showers. Carefully he reaches over Kentarou and suddenly the water stops. The sudden silence makes him squeeze his eyes shut to drown out as much of his surroundings as he can. He breathes in deeply, holds the air in his lungs for a second before exhaling slowly until there’s nothing left to exhale. The leaves his chest aching slightly, just enough to make him feel a part of his body again. When he opens his eyes again it is to find Yahaba crouching in front of him, staring straight at his face. Even in the dim light other boy’s eyes are unmistakably red.

“The others are waiting outside,” he starts. “I think coach wants to leave soon, they’re already packing up the bus and everything. We can probably find you some dry clothes or you just put on your jersey again, I mean it’s not that cold today, you probably won’t get sick but you can’t just-“

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Yahaba stops talking immediately, his mouth still open. He blinks, once, twice, then clamps it shut and finally sinks to his knees on the wet shower floor.

 

“I’m sorry I messed up again,” Kentarou continues, his voice coming out croaky. “I should’ve been better.”

Yahaba doesn’t reply immediately. Instead he sighs deeply and tips back his head to stare at the ceiling. Kentarou’s eyes travel down the line of his throat until he catches himself and quickly turns his head down to focus on his hands. Turning them over he sees crescent indents in his palms from where he’d been digging his fingernails into soft skin. Some of them are bleeding, he registers faintly.

 

“You didn’t mess up,” Yahaba finally says quietly. “We lost but we lost as a team.”

He sounds pained and Kentarou’s eyes finally flit back up to study his face.

“If anyone messed up it’s me,” Yahaba continues. His voice is barely a whisper at this point. “I should’ve led the team better.”

 

Kentarou can’t help the growl that escapes his throat. He pushes himself off the wall to lean forward and twist his fingers into the fabric of Yahaba’s shirt. Yahaba just blinks at him in surprise and doesn’t resist when Kentarou pulls him forward.

 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he snarls. “Don’t you fucking dare put this on yourself.”

 

Yahaba doesn’t seem fazed, instead the hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, getting stronger until he’s almost grinning. For some reason it irritates Kentarou in a way that makes his chest ache. Strangely, for the first time today, that ache isn’t entirely unpleasant.

 

“Then you can’t blame yourself either, you idiot,” Yahaba says and let’s his head fall forward until their foreheads are touching.

 

He brings his hands up to rest on Kentarou’s shoulders. For a moment they just sit in silence and Kentarou almost forgets he’s still gripping Yahaba’s shirt if it weren’t for the fact that his skin seems to burn everywhere they’re touching. Suddenly his own breathing sounds too loud in the quiet. Then Yahaba’s hands travel further up and Kentarou forgets everything else except for those pin points of warmth against his neck.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to do for month,” Yahaba breathes out softly, so close that Kentarou can feel it ghosting over his skin. He feels like he hasn’t taken a single breath in hours. “Can I?“

 

Instead of replying, Kentarou leans forward to close that last distance between them. His lips are cold against Yahaba’s but it doesn’t matter, he thinks he could stay like this forever. Tightening his hold on Yahaba’s shirt he pulls the taller boy closer until he can feel the warmth of his body pressed against his own. When he lets his back fall against the wall again Yahaba follows easily. Somehow he’s moved to straddle Kentarou, rising up slightly on his knees to deepen the kiss. Where Kentarou felt numb earlier, he’s now acutely aware of every inch of his body. He lets his hands fall down to Yahaba’s waist and curls his arms around him to hug him closer. If he could, he’d never let go.

 

By the time Yahaba draws back slightly they’re both out of breath. For a moment they just stare at each other, panting slightly. Yahaba draws his brows together slightly and slowly lowers his hands again from where they’d been gripping his hair.

 

“You know, I meant this so if you just went along with it ‘cause you’re sad or whatever-“

“I’ve wanted you to do this since you slammed me against that fucking wall last year,” Kentarou immediately cuts him off. “So kiss me again you asshole.”

 

Yahaba’s eyebrows shoot up and he grins in that way that makes Kentarou wonder how anyone could _ever_ think he’s innocent. Suddenly there’s a hand at his collar, pulling him up to eyelevel with Yahaba.

 

“Well, if you insist.”

**Author's Note:**

> me? projecting all of my emotions on my favorite characters? it's more likely than you think  
> come yell at me on [tumblr](http://inkcaviness.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/InkCaviness)


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